


a distinct, earthy tone

by aizono



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, No Beta We Die Like Glen, it's shippy if you squint okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:14:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23245363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aizono/pseuds/aizono
Summary: "Why are they the colour of blood, of fire? There’s one burning out somewhere, she can smell the smoke."-----Written for the prompt "[183] What is their favourite fairytale?" from the Claudeleth server. Self-isolation enabled.
Relationships: My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	a distinct, earthy tone

There’s something about sleeping on a still night that frightens Byleth. She lies back in her bed, neck and chest cold with sweat from a fitful sleep. No rain, no wind, no bones snapping or screams of pain dying in the blood flooded mouths they belong to. Nothing but the promise of something yet to come. 

For her, life is a battle with terrifying moments of peace. 

Jeralt is sleeping in the same tent- she isn’t considered old enough for her own, nor to share with the younger boys. Jeralt wouldn’t let her bunk with the boys no matter her age, really, but she’d asked when she could and he’d said “When you’re old enough.” She’s noticed that he says it often and the true meaning of it is peeking through: “Over my dead body.”

She kicks her blanket up for the fifth time since she woke up. A familiar sound, loud against the silence of the night. As the fabric settles against her legs- soft, almost tickling- she stares up at the tent. Maybe she should check the perimeter of their camp. She knows they already have men on the lookout but it couldn’t hurt to double-

“Byleth,” 

She doesn’t answer. 

A huff comes from the body to her left. “I know you’re awake, Byleth. Been keeping me awake, dammit,” 

Should she say sorry? Or is that just more noise?

Before she can decide, Jeralt continues. “Go. To sleep.”

“I-” A squeak pops out of her mouth. Byleth hasn’t spoken today. “I can’t sleep.”

“Goddess, how?” Jeralt groans. “Right, I’ll tell you a story.”

“A story?”

“Mhm. Once upon a time, there was a group of mercenaries who were very tired from running around all day. They wanted to get to sleep as soon as possible so they wouldn’t be tired the next day, because being tired means you can’t concentrate on the battlefield and you die. So they went to sleep, since they didn’t want to die. Including the smallest merc of them all.”

Byleth liked this story. She understood it well. Does the smallest merc’s legs feel as jittery as her own, itching to get up and do something? Are her eyes heavy, despite having no desire to close? Byleth wishes she could sleep under the stars but she was told that it was too cold and she should take advantage of having a roof over her head. She doesn’t think a tent counts as a roof but she kept that to herself. Nobody really listens to her anyway. 

"Mm," Byleth hummed. No response. Jeralt must have fallen asleep. 

Quietly, deftly, she slides out from her cover. Her bare feet make no noise against the earth and she’s careful to not whip the entrance fabric as she exits. On her wrist lies a band of special pink thread, gifted to her by a woman with white hair and warm skin. What was the place called? She can’t recall. But she’s thankful to that woman because now she is using the band to pull her hair into a ponytail. Some have said it makes her look like a boy, in a bad way and a good way. Byleth just likes that it lets the wind blow against her neck.

That, and it keeps her hair out of her eyes. Wherever they are now, the sky above it is clear and deep. Stars glitter the vast, dark blue above her, reaching into infinity. There are stars around her, too, buzzing around on tiny wings. Her hand reaches out into nowhere and a star lands on her hand, its starshine fading and growing. 

_These must be shooting stars,_ She surmises. Who would’ve thought that stars are actually insects? Bringing her hand up to her eye, she sees that this one has a spot of red at the front of its body. In Fearghus there are birds with that. Small and round, their red breast stands out against the white freeze of the landscape. Why are they the colour of blood, of fire? There’s one burning out somewhere, she can smell the smoke. 

She blinks and the star is gone, flying back to its home in the sky. Her eyes follow it for as long as she can. The bushes shake with movement. 

It would be nice to fly. 

\---

“Oh, I’m sorry… did I make you wait? I ran as fast as I could!” 

Byleth’s gaze is torn from the blue sky. If he knew her better, Claude would say she looks startled. She didn’t startle, flinch, nor jump, but he swears that her eyes are a little wider than usual. However her eyes have always been doe-like. Wide, like they’re anticipating an attack at any moment. It takes time to relax, or at least pretend to. 

“Claude.” She greets. Well, he thinks she’s greeting him. For all he knows she’s just affirming that yes, that’s Claude. He’s here. Or maybe she’s irritated; not someone who likes to be left waiting. 

He can theorize all he wants but at the end of the day the air is becoming more and more awkward as they stare at each other. Not that the Professor seems to feel it. Awkwardness bounces off of her like water off a wyvern’s wings. 

“I’ll take my seat, then,” He gives her a wink. Minutely, her shoulders relax. As he pulls the chair out, she grabs the teapot (oh, Lorenz would hate to see her manhandling it) and pours out the tea into his cup. Despite her hardy grip, the flow of tea is smooth and controlled. When Claude looks to her face he sees her brows knitted in concentration.

He waits for her to pour out her own. She struggles with manipulating her hold on the heated pot but manages without spilling, though a few drops threaten to dribble across the table at the end of the pour. The Professor is quick to hover the spout over her cup to catch the offending drops. 

She releases a sigh when the teapot is finally laid to rest on the table. Ever so slightly, as she settles herself and sits up straight, Claude can see the edges of her lips pull up. She’s proud of herself?

...Cute.

“Drink.” She says, a commanding tone in her voice. Her eyes flicker and she changes her tone. “Have some, Claude.”

“Thank you,” He grins, lifting the cup to his lips. She’s only been here for a month, so it figures that she’s used to talking a certain way. He can’t recall hearing her being in any certain position as a mercenary but her tone suggests that she’s used to giving orders. Goddess knows he’s heard people say they don’t like talking to her because she’s rude, or demanding, or bossy. Just one of the many complains he’s overheard about-

Surrounded by rich pines, running towards a smoking fire. The fallen needles prick as his feet but have no hope in slowing him. He’s lifted up high by strong arms and comes to rest against a beating heart. Sweet words rock him to sleep: Alay lalaei, Khalid…

“Claude.”

To have a child’s eyes for a moment is disorientating, to say the least. He didn’t even know he could remember things that far back. How old must he have been? Too short to even see above someone’s knees… Two? Three?

Something creaks in front of him. “Claude?” 

The Professor. He meets her eyes. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t like it.” She affirms. 

He puts the cup out of his sight, a smile easing its way back onto his face. “No, no Professor, it’s lovely. I haven’t tasted a tea so… smoky before. Caught me off guard, I’ll admit.”

The Professor hums, sipping as he speaks. He can still smell the roasting bird, hear the wood crackling. 

“I wanted to try something new.” The Professor admitted, looking down into her tea. “There’s so many kinds.”

“You don’t drink tea, Teach?”

She blinks at him. He’s been trying out that nickname and, while she reacts like this, she hasn’t exactly protested. “Sometimes, when travelling. We’re not paid in tea.”

Is that a joke? No, she’s being straightforward. “Maybe you should change your MO. Tea can sell for pretty high, if it’s good. I heard a pound of one type sold for 200,000.”

“182,000 for a pound. Hresvelg Blend.” The Professor nodded. “Leicester Cortania would cost the same but it’s not as easily available here, so Hresvelg Blend is most common.”

What does he say to that? Claude’s not a tea sort of guy, especially not after this. How can someone know the ins and outs of tea so well to speak about it with such confidence? Why would they know that? What is it about tea that can drive people so much? The Professor is a bag of ten questions for every two answers. 

“Oh yeah? I’ve never even heard of those types,”

“They’re not sold here,” Her eyes gleam with a secret. 

“Are they not…” He leans forward, resting his chin on his hands. Create an atmosphere of conspiracy, to encourage the divulging of information. 

She shakes her head with a sigh. “They’re secret recipes. Who would bother smuggling tea?”

“Pity,” He glances towards his cup, untouched. “I’m assuming this tea isn’t so forbidden?”

“Oh, no, I got this one from the merchants for our tea. It’s Almyran Pine Needles.” 

His smile tightens. “You got a special blend just for me? Making me blush over here, Teach.” 

The Professor looks at him intently. ...Is she actually checking to see if he’s blushing? He doesn’t think he can fake that, not with her eyes on him like this. 

“I… remembered the smell. From when I was little. One fire would be left to burn out and its smoke would cover the tents.” Her eyes wander with her words, journeying into memory. “It blackened whatever it touched. Once… once we were taken by surprise. They grew from the shadows and towered over us. Everyone was running everywhere. I was pushed into a fire pit and…” She breathes in. “I grabbed something and fought until the ash was washed from my body.” 

Claude can hear people chattering on the other side of the bushes. Some pegasus knights fly over, shouting commands to one another. The Professor picks up the teapot and pours herself some more. 

“How old were you?”

“I don’t know.”

She doesn’t know a lot of things. How can someone be content without awareness? No, she isn’t content. At every opportunity she asks questions. Could she not ask them before, when she was a child? Was she ever a child, or has she been the Ashen Demon so long that she’s forgotten?

“Have you heard of the wyvern boy?”

The Professor cocks her head. “No. Who is he?”

Claude smiles, “He was a disliked boy, once upon a time. Nobody knew what to do with him, or what to call him. When one person did, another called him something different. It was confusing for the boy, especially because nobody answered his questions. So one day he ran away. Down the hall, into the streets and finally ending up in the forest,”

“He knew the forest well, especially when it came to finding places where he would be left alone. So he walked and walked and walked until he found himself halfway up the mountain watching over his home. The sun had set and the sky was full of stars. But without the moon it was dark, and the boy couldn’t see where he was going. It was only when he looked up and couldn’t see the stars that he realized he had wandered into a cave,”

“For once, he was scared. He was afraid that he couldn’t get back out and would never see his mother or father again, or the children he played with in the market.”

He focused on the tea, feeling the Professor’s gaze on him. “He fell down in the cave and cried. For how long, nobody knows. But eventually he felt something warm brush against his hair. He looked up, thinking he had been found. And he was right.”

“A wyvern’s eye, bigger than his own head, stared back at him. It was the largest he had ever seen, its scales smooth and laced like the white fabrics for sale in the marketplace. It was a wild wyvern. Untouched by war but no less dangerous. The sound of its breathing hit his ears, slapping him out of his sadness. He hadn’t just wandered into a cave, he had come into this wyvern’s cave- it’s home!”

“The wyvern turned its head, baring its lance-teeth at him. He was ready for it to attack, to kill him.”

“And it picked him up in its mouth, taking him outside. It dropped him on the ground and stretched its wings, letting out a huge roar that scratched the inside of the boy's ears. Before he knew it, the wyvern had shoved the boy onto its back and flew away.”

Claude's gaze lingered on the Professor. He's not yet able to tell what she's thinking but he can tell when she is. Her eyes either hover off to the side or rest on whoever she's talking to. Looking but not seeing.

She ‘s likely turning over the tale in her head, replaying lines or phrases she's unfamiliar with. She blinks a few times- the steam from the tea is irritating them, probably. 

Her wide eyes break out of their trance, returning to him. "Is that true?"

Claude studies her face for a second, searching for a hint of jest. He smiles but the raising of his eyebrow gives away disbelief. "It's a fairytale, Teach," 

She shakes her head in that familiar way. 

"Did you make it up?" 

"Maybe."

"It..." Her hand gestures vaguely. "Where did they go?”

Claude shrugged, “Depends who's telling it. Some say the wyvern took him home, where he was told off for making everyone worry. Others…” He thinks. 

“Well, the one I like is when the wyvern flies to a far-off land. He makes friends, learns a bunch of new things. It’s more adventurous.”

The Professor chews her lip. That’s new. “Wouldn’t he miss his family?”

“You’re not meant to read too much into it, Teach.” He leans back, resting his hands behind his head. 

“Well… I liked it. Thank you for telling me.” 

Wait, was that? Claude blinks. Did she just smile? “You’re welcome. Invite me again if you want to hear more tales. I might bring out a few romantic ones.”

“And I’ll get some tea you actually like,” She looks down.

Oh, right, dammit. He does like it- loves it, actually- it’s just… 

“Sorry about that. The smoky flavour’s a little much. Tell you what, Teach, next time I bring the tea and you bring the story. Sounds good?”

The Professor nods. “I’ll try my best.”

**Author's Note:**

> Claude's story is absolutely based off of personal experience with a little flair added in. Yes I did the math for how much a pound of Hresvelg Blend/Leicester Cortania would cost. (Two teabags are usually used for one pot of tea, which means that the merchants are selling you two tea bags at a time. About 182 tea bags make a pound. 182/2 = 91. 91 x 2,000 (the price of Blend/Cortania) = 182,000. This is a very serious fic lol). 
> 
> Yes, Byleth has been going to the black market just for tea. She takes tea time seriously and has even been practicing how to properly pour tea. 
> 
> Did you know there are people actually selling Almyran Pine Needles tea? The reviews helped with visualizing https://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/blend.html?blend=156403. 
> 
> Also, shoutout to Hama's Babyleth design here https://trashout.tumblr.com/post/188145273651/then-and-now-and-from-now-on. It's become my headcanon for how Byleth looked as a child. 
> 
> Tiana's singing the "la la la" part of a lullaby but I referenced this song in particular https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UyVuxByaycc. Almyra is Persian-inspired, right? I think it's very pretty.


End file.
